Photo Essay — Page 6

Paying Attention: A Prayer with Photos

August 14, 2012 By Diana

Grant that I may I have eyes to see you, Lord.

To see you in the light,

to see you in the dark.

To see you in the rainbow,

to see you in the clouds.

To see you in the new,

to see you in the worn and weary.

To see you in the blessed and blissful details,

to see you in the rougher edges.

To see you in the easy, graceful gifts,

to see you in the slogging, stultifying backwater.

To see you in the immensity of the universe,

to see you in the intensity of a single cell.

Grant that I may have a heart to hear you, Lord.

To hear you in the laughter of children,

to hear you in the slowing of age.

To hear you in the soft sighs of the sea,

to hear you in the harsh cries of the hawk.

To hear you when the joy breaks loose,

to hear you when the sobs don’t stop.

To hear you in a beating heart,

to hear you when the beating stops.

To hear you in the wonder of a well-fed child,

to hear you in the one who starves.

To hear you in the still, small voice,

to hear you in the silence
of questions without answer.

Even there, O Lord.

Even there.

May I have eyes to see,

ears to hear,

and a tongue to tell

the glory of our God.

Even.There.

The photo of the ‘shoes’ near the end of this prayer is from eastern Europe –
a WWII memorial sculpture commemorating Hungarian Jews
who were lined up on the edge of the river,
told to take off their shoes, and then shot to death.
This reflection was prompted by a post about photography and truth at Kelly Sauer’s blog today. She was pondering old versus new in her photographic style. That got me to thinking and praying about the contrasts in this life; that the light and the dark are often closely connected and reflective of one another; that God doesn’t abandon us when life looks dismal or terrifying. I need eyes and ears that look and SEE and hear and LISTEN for evidence of the Presence of God – wherever and whatever and whenever.
Sometime during the dark morning hours, I realized that this post was also triggered by the powerful WWII story shared by Ann Voskamp in yesterday’s blog post.
Even in the most horrific of human-devised schemes,
God does not abandon us, God is not absent.
So thank you, Kelly. And thank you, Ann.
I’ll put this one with Michelle tonight, Jen tomorrow, and Ann on Wednesday and Duane and Jennifer, too.

Here is a legend for the photographs.

1. Reflections of stained glass on the stone walls of a cathedral in Cologne, Germany, 2009.

2. Sunlight breaking through the clouds as we flew from Florida home to LAX, May 2012

3. Cloud-covered moonlight over Puget Sound while staying on Whidbey Island, August 2007

4. Layers of color at sunset at the same place and time as photo #3

5. Our youngest granddaughter Lilly on the day she was born – 2/25/10

6. An oversized drawing entered in an art contest spotlighting the homeless population of Haarlem, The Netherlands, 2009

7. Our dining room pine buffet, loaded with my much-loved Fiestaware, taken on the day of my mom’s 90th birthday party, June 2011

8. Silhouetted ruins above the Rhine River, 2009

9. A tableau of bicycle against the stone wall of a local Catholic retreat center, Spring 2011

10. Garbage gathered at the edge of a marina in Miami FL, May 2012

11. Yosemite National Park, summer 2010

12. A birch leaf in our front yard, fall 2010

13. Sunlight through amber windows at the New Camoldolese (Benedictine) Hermitage Retreat Center, near Big Sur CA, December 2011

14. Our granddaughter Gracie, aged 2, laughing at the antics of her cousin Griffin, aged 2, on Whidbey Island, August 2007 (They’re six years old now, soon to turn 7)

15. My favorite centering prayer spot – the beat-up swing that hangs from an oak tree in our front yard, taken in the spring of 2010

16. Hendry’s Beach, Santa Barbara CA (officially known as Arroyo Burro State Beach), sunset, winter 2011

17. A bird of prey overhead – maybe a hawk, maybe an osprey, in British Columbia, summer 2007

18. Municipal flower garden, Nuremburg, Germany, 2009

19. The cross on our back fence that marks the place where my youngest brother’s ashes are buried. Taken in the spring of 2011.

20. Lilly, playing in her tent, Christmas 2011

21. Santa Barbara cemetery on a foggy morning, winter 2011

22. Lilly’s adorable bunny slippers, Christmas 2011

23. A skeletized leaf, picked up by my grandson while we were hiking in the Redwoods near Santa Cruz CA, summer 2011

24. Window angel spotted in a side street of Regensburg, Germany, 2009

25. War Memorial in honor of slain Jewish citizens, Budapest Hungary, 2009

26. Approaching Laity Lodge through the Frio River, the hill country of Texas, September 2011

Filed Under: hope, personal journey, Photo Essay, photography, prayer

Garden Glory: Summer Weekend – August 10-12

August 11, 2012 By Diana

Every day I walked circles in the parking lot.

We sat a lot during the School for Spiritual Direction

and I needed the exercise.

So, I walked in circles,

round and round the lowest level of the parking lot.

And every day, I noticed a lovely garden just below me.

Twice each week, volunteers came to weed and water.

It took me two summers,

two weeks each summer,

to actually stroll down into that garden below me.

And I discovered something wonderful.

An historic garden,

filled with flowers and fruits and vines

that were in use during the late 18th and

early 19th centuries, during the era of the missions

and Spanish rule of Alta and Baja California.

A lovely small piece of summer serendipity in the middle of an intense time.

“Serendipity is the faculty of finding things we did not know we were looking for.”
Glauco Ortolano

“May Jesus himself and God our Father, who reached out in love and surprised you with gifts of unending help and confidence, put a fresh heart in you, invigorate your work, enliven your speech.
2 Thessalonians 2:15-16, The Message

Joining with Michelle, Sandy and Deidra this beautiful summer weekend:

Filed Under: God's gifts, Photo Essay, Quiet for the Weekend

Learning from the Humming Birds: A Photo Essay

August 4, 2012 By Diana

It’s been a wild ride the past few weeks – a major writing project to complete, followed by two weeks living in community with the charismatic Benedictines, wonderful friends who think deeply
about life and spirituality and who teach me so much – with their words and with their wisdom.
Our last evening together (in each of the two 2-week school sessions over the last two summers) is spent sharing stories, skits, reflections and laughter. This year, I put together a slide show with a narration.
And I promised my friends there that I would post it in this space.
It will not show up as a slide show here, but what I can do in this space is interweave the narration a bit better than I could with the time constraints of a 4 minute Chris Rice piano version of “Come Thou, Fount.”

Fourteen days ago, I drove myself into the parking lot

of this beautiful retreat center,

exhausted from too many deadlines and too few hours.

I was not exactly ‘conscious.’*

Fumbling for words, dropping things, overwhelmed by the kindness of friends,

I took a deep breath,

looked around at the curving architecture,

the quadrangled green space,

and thanked God that I had made it.

My room welcomed me to smallness and quietude,

and I began to feel the almost imperceptible movement

of muscles unclenching, stomach settling

and spirit stretching.

The foggy mornings helped to slow the pace,

gently covering all the sharp edges of the landscape –

the one around me and the one inside me, too.

Morning walks helped point me to beauty –

light and shadow;color and texture and shape; pinks and yellows and purples and reds.

circles and oblongs and heart-shaped buds;

Afternoons found me tucked away in a small side garden, where leaves,

backlit by the western sun,

shimmered and shook with glory.

Water soothed and stilled me, running off the edge of a nearby fountain,

abundant and nourishing.

A deep-seated thirst found quenching.

Surrounding the gentle circles of water was a sea of deep blue lilies,

held aloft by long stems moving in the afternoon breeze.

As I sat and soaked it in, those blue spires began to dance
without the help of wind,
stirred instead by fragile wings,
wings that beat 2 to 3 thousand times a minute.

Tiny feathered flyers ducked and swiveled,

hovered and darted,

long, thin beaks dipping deep for nectar in each periwinkle bloom

To my right was one bright red feeder, and hanging far above my head, another.

Sometimes one feisty bird at a time, they sipped and rested – gathering nourishment for the next few minutes of fevered flight.

And sometimes, they came in gangs,
dive-bombing one another to find a seat at the table.

One small trio shared well and drank deeply.

And so did we.

I will remember these two weeks for many reasons –
for good conversations, for stellar teaching,
for the nourishment of worship and eucharist.

But I will remember the hummingbirds, too. Tiny carriers of creation goodness, reminders of the need to inhabit my own smallness.

For to see these glimpses of glory, I, too, must become small – small enough to sit still,
to be quiet,
to listen well,
and to trust the goodness of God.

*The word ‘conscious’ in this context was an inside ‘joke’ (very feeble!) based upon much of what we learned together about becoming persons who can be more fully present to others and to God. Learning to be increasingly aware of ourselves and our own struggles/issues/shadows is often called ‘coming to consciousness.’ It is hard work to become more consciously aware of all the stuff that churns inside of us, often causing reactivity, defensiveness, projection-of-our-own-crap-onto-others. But the kind of work we strive to do with others in spiritual direction requires us to do our own work first. Much of what we learned together over these two years was directed at helping us become increasingly aware of when, where and how (and how frighteningly often!) we are not aware, not in tune with our own spirit or with God’s. I feel like I am just beginning some days!

I will join this with a few friends over the next day or so – most likely Ann Voskamp, Laura Boggess, L.L. Barkat, Michelle DeRusha, Jennifer Dukes Lee and Jen Ferguson.

And with Cheryl Smith, too – if this linky works –

Filed Under: Birds, community, personal journey, Photo Essay, Spiritual Direction

At the Marina: a Photo Essay

June 30, 2012 By Diana

It was a beautiful morning –

clear skies right from the get-go,

warm sunshine,

gentle breeze.

A perfect day to treat ourselves to lunch out

at the local marina.

Although boat culture is not our thing,

we love to look at them.

So we took ourselves to a ringside seat,

with a close-up view of hungry starlings

and brightly blooming hibiscus,

and a more distant view of masts and docks.

Dick had his favorite seafood Louis salad,

I had a chicken quesadilla,

and we just sat and breathed for a while,

taking in the spectacular view

and wondering aloud every so often

if very many of these boats

before us actually make it out to the open sea.

After lunch, we took a slow amble down the waterfront,

noting how much clearer the water is now,

after a major harbor clean-up a few months back.

We spied one turquoise-bottomed fishing boat

as it slowly wound its way into the dock.

We stood and watched a bit, as it idled

in the unloading area while we walked

south along the wooden decking.

There were others out and about, too,

enjoying the warmth of the sun,

the sound and smell of the water.

One of the things I love about our town

is the juxtaposition of ocean and mountains.

There is always something beautiful and inspirational

to look at, no matter which direction you face.

At least two fisherfolk were still out at sea

(see their empty slips in the picture below?);

we hoped we might be lucky enough to see

at least one of them come in and unload their cargo.

Sure enough,

a small, 2-person ship –

complete with crow’s nest –

came chugging into view as we walked along the pier.

These boats are far more interesting to us than the

luxury cabin cruisers and humongous catamarans

that dot our marina.

(See that big one in the right-center-rear

of the picture above?)

Maybe that’s because these small, well-worn boats

represent the life and livelihood of a dying breed

in these parts – the journeyman fisherman.

Their territory has been impinged upon by

multiple facts-of-life –

government regulation, most of it necessary;

predatory otters – all of them adorable, but destructive;

over-fishing and diminishing quantities of some of the

Santa Barbara channel stock-in-trade –

abalone and lobsters in particular.

The white-haired gentleman atop the boat is the captain;

his long-suffering wife is waiting on the dock,

barely visible through the rigging.

There was one other crewman,

middle-aged and about as worn looking as this boat.

We’d seen scarecrow-owls atop buildings before,

but this was the first time we’d seen one

on a sea-faring vessel.

We waited patiently, walking from one of the

weigh-in piers to the other,

noting two grey, covered trashcans on the deck.

What could be inside this time?

Slowly, the winch raised those grey cans off of the ship

and onto the dock where a scale waited.

These two gentlemen below,

with Chinese last names,

opened some grey trashcans of their own,

taken from the bed of their small pick-up truck.

And then they poured amazing quantities of…

octopi… into them.

The longer-haired gentlemen switched position

at the exact same moment I clicked the slow-shutter on

my point-and-shoot camera, so I did not get a

picture of those slimy critters as they swirled into the can.

The buyers snapped on the lids, to protect their precious

purchase from the vagaries of freeway traffic,

then got into the cab of their truck,

and drove those things back to somebody’s

favorite Chinese restaurant somewhere.

Just before we headed home,

we snuck a peek into the local Fish Market

to remind us of what we usually see

when we come here!

A beautiful selection of fish,

much of it very high-priced –

all of it delicious and fresh, fresh, FRESH.

We may not be part of the boat culture,

but we are most definitely part of the FISH culture.

And we are appreciative of the those who are dedicated and brave enough to gather the fish that we eat from the sea.

All in all, a lovely summer afternoon.

Joining Michelle and her Graceful Summer invitation each Friday of these summer months:

Filed Under: Photo Essay, Santa Barbara, Slowing Down, Wonderings in the World

Sunny Summer Afternoon: A Photo Essay

June 23, 2012 By Diana

Joining with Michelle DeRusha and her invitation to sit and savor summertime. It comes on Fridays and it’s delightful and refreshing. Check it out:

Sunshine today, almost all day long,

a refreshing change after many days of June Gloom.

So I took myself to the beach and then on a walk

around my yard,

and enjoyed the beauties of summer.

‘Tis the season for blue blooms in these parts,

blues of every hue,

with a little pink thrown in for good measure.

Honey bees,

humming birds,

lizards sunning themselves,

swallowtails,

even those with injured wings,

are among the beauties of today.

Join me, won’t you?

And offer thanks to God for the glories of summertime.

Filed Under: God's gifts, Home, Photo Essay

“This Difficult Friendship” – Living in Bodies

June 18, 2012 By Diana

And the body, what about the body?

Sometimes it is my favorite child,

uncivilized…

And sometimes my body disgusts me.

Filling and emptying, it disgusts me…

This long struggle to be at home

in the body, this difficult friendship.

-Jane Kenyon (From “Cages”)

Yesterday, I was in need of some solitude,

some time by myself,

away from the interruptions of home and family.

So I packed a lunch, got in my car,

and waited to see where my car would take me.

Turns out, my car likes the Slough.

The parking lot was much more crowded than usual,

filled with family and friends of UCSB graduates

who were gathering at the nearby park for

celebrations of all kinds on this graduation day.

I found a spot between a large motor home,

which served as a gathering spot
for a group of middle-aged guys I’ve seen here before,

and a car filled with a family of beach-goers.

I ate my lunch.

I did some reading.

And I got in and out of the car,

taking pictures and paying attention.

It took me until today,

after hearing a fine sermon this morning by

our Associate Pastor, Jon Lemmond,

to more fully understand why this particular spot,

of all the possible spots I could have chosen,

is such a special one for me.

I like birds.

A lot.

I know very little about them,

I just know I love to sit and watch them,

to try and capture some of their beauty and grace

with my camera,

and to reflect on how completely
at home they are

with the bodies God gave them.

Completely.

You don’t hear birds complaining that they’ve

got too many feathers or too few,

that they wish their beaks were just a bit narrower,

that their feet were a little smaller,

that their tummies were tighter.

No, you don’t.

Besides the fact that birds don’t speak English,

I think the reason we don’t hear (or observe) such

kvetching behavior in birds is this:

they know who they are,

they accept who they are,

they live a one-piece life.

I want a one-piece life.

I want to keep body and soul together,

I want to recognize that I am a body.

And I want to accept that body with grace and with gratitude.

And I have a long way to go on that journey.

Today’s sermon was a strong, clear word of encouragement

to keep on truckin’.

Jon took a few verses from a favorite psalm

this morning – Psalm 139:13-18.

And he laid out his observations beautifully:

1. Our bodies are spiritual –

we want not to err on the side of gnosticism

(the most stubborn of historical heresies in the church)

and denigrate the design of God for our physicality.

It is with our bodies that we glorify God.

It is in our bodies that we are saved.

We are, in truth, our bodies.

In Genesis 2, God takes the dust of the earth

and breathes life into it…

spirit and flesh, joined forever.

But unlike the birds, our bodies need redemption,

restoration, renewal.

And they are so valuable to God,

that God took on our bodily form so that redemption

and restoration and renewal might be possible.

2. Our bodies are praiseworthy.

And this is where most of us badly twist the truth

of who we are as embodied creatures.

The most usual translation of verse 14 goes something like this:

“We are fearfully and wonderfully made.”

But Jon’s OT prof, Leslie Allen (who was also my OT prof!),

translates it more like this:

“God is wonderful. And we are made in God’s image.”

We should indeed stand in awe of who we are,

at what our bodies can do –

wounds heal,

pupils contract and dilate

according to the ambient light,

our skin and sweat glands

help set a healthy thermostat.

We are indeed wonderfully made!

BUT…

we are wonderful because of who made us,

not because of any intrinsic ‘perfection’ of our own.

Therefore, beware our cultural predilection for

believing we are the center of things.

When the Bible tells us that our bodies are wonderful,

it is not meant as, “a psychological pick-me-up
aimed at bolstering our self-esteem.”

Rather, these words point us first to the Creator,

and only then, to the creature.

If we can grab hold of this astounding truth,

then maybe, just maybe,

we can begin to believe that every single one of us,

able-bodied or not,

fat, thin, tall, short, young, old –

every one of us –

broken and imperfect as we are –

is a thing of wonder and delight to the One who made us.

Not just cute babies.

Not just Hollywood celebrities.

Not just the perfect bikini-body.

Not just the strong, ripped muscles.

No.

ALL.OF.US.

“We are beautiful because we are the Lord’s.”

And then my friend and former colleague offered the most

beautiful analogy to help us latch onto this

powerful truth.

The stole he is wearing was a gift to him on the

day of his ordination into the ministry.

It was made for him by his mother and his grandmother.

It is lovely to look at…

but it is not perfect.

It doesn’t lie flat at the back like

a more professionally made stole would.

Some of the stitching around the six lovely

symbol patches is a little rough.

But it is one of Jon’s most priceless possessions.

When the Tea Fire hit his neighborhood three years ago,

he first made sure his wife and children were safe.

And then, Jon rushed into his house and grabbed this stole.

Not because it is perfect.

Not because it is without flaws.

Not because it does everything it was meant to do.

No.

Jon grabbed it because of who made it.

Jon grabbed it because of the love that was poured into it.

Jon grabbed it not because of its intrinsic value,

but because of the relationship

he has with the ones who made it.

It is beautiful,

not so much for what it is,

but because it reflects the love of the creator(s).

Can I begin to value my body for what it truly is?
The gift of my Creator?
My body.

The dust of the earth,

into which God breathed life 67 years ago.

My body.
The embodiment of God’s dream for me

as a whole person,

a unified human being,

body, soul, spirit.

My body.
A reflection of the God who loves me.

An added spot of beauty to our worship last Sunday was a new offertory song. Our Director of Worship Arts, Bob Gross, wrote a lovely melody to go with these powerful words written by Mechtild of Mageburg in the 13th century. This translation was done in 1991 by Jean Wiebe Janzen, but the words in bold are Bob’s addition and served as a beautiful refrain throughout the piece. He tells us he’s going to do a YouTube version, and when he does, I’ll post a link here – and undoubtedly elsewhere, like Facebook and Twitter. I sat amazed at how these lyrics sort of wrapped up my entire weekend. Read them carefully:

I cannot dance, O Love, unless you lead me on.

I cannot leap in gladness, unless you lift me up.

From love to love we circle, beyond all knowledge grow.

For when you lead, we follow, to new worlds you can show.

Love is the music ’round us, we glide as birds in air,

entwining, soul and body, your wings hold us with care.

Your Spirit is the harpist and all your children sing;

her hands the currents ’round us, your love the golden strings.

Play me a medley.
Play me a song.
Lead me, I am yours.
I cannot dance alone.

O blessed Love, your circling unites us, God and soul.

From the beginning, your arms embrace and make us whole.

Hold us in steps of mercy from which you never part,

that we may know more fully the dances of your heart.

Joining with Michelle, Jennifer, Laura, Duane and L.L. this time.
And at the middle of the week, also joining Ann V., Jennifer Dukes Lee and Emily W.

Filed Under: biblical reflection, God's gifts, personal journey, Photo Essay, Wonderings in the Word, worship

Again and Again – Soaking in the Beauty with People We Love

May 28, 2012 By Diana

A Photo Essay

featuring

Kauai, Hawaii

We went there first in 1980. And we left our kids at home for the first time ever. They were 8, 10 and 12 and my parents came and stayed in our home, schlepping them hither and yon for two and a half weeks while we flew across the Pacific to check out the 50th state.

That time we went with another couple, island-hopping to get the lay of the land. But we knew from the very first touchdown on that northernmost and oldest of the islands that we would be back in that place, kids in tow, just as soon as we could possibly make it happen.

And two years later, we did it. All 5 of us sharing a 1-bedroom condo, air mattresses on the floor, mosquitoes buzzing, frogs chirruping by the thousands.

And we loved it.

Every single inch of it.

It’s hard to say enough about all that we love in that place.

From the 150 year old wood frame or volcanic stone churches…

…to the thrilling drop-off above the Napali coastline,

as viewed from the overlook…

…to the waterfalls and colorful striations of the Little Grand Canyon on the road up to the overlook…

…to the windswept Tunnels Beach with it’s conical-hat Bali Hai in the distance…

…to the richness of local taro fields lining the sides of the Hanalei River…

…to the sweeping panorama of the beach at Kalihiwai Bay, whether a sunny day…

…or a cloudy one – complete with rainbow.

Of course, I would have to tell you about that solitary lighthouse across from the bird refuge…

…and certainly, the lure of the jungle-rich roadway driving north…until there is no more road to drive.

One consistent siren call is most assuredly the sounds of local bird-life. The distinct cooing of Hawaiian doves,

the worried call of the bright red or grey and red cardinals,

and – of course – the early morning cri de couer of hundreds and hundreds of these guys, wandering wherever they please,

thank you very much.

I would have to include the singular beauty of entire groves of palm trees, swaying in the breeze.

And of course, one of my deepest loves:

the wide variety of beautiful flowers, colorful and fragrant.

Anthurium, pink and red.

Every shape, size and color of orchid.

It’s not called the Garden Isle for nothin’.

Wonderful wildflowers, too.

Red ginger, and sometimes pink.

My personal favorite – and the first thing I buy at the local Farmer’s Market – is the white, heavily scented tuberose.

And these wild bird-flowers are fun, too.

Golden shower trees abound – and of course – the state flower can be found everywhere, in every shade of pink, purple, orange, yellow, white and red.

The glorious-for-one-day hibiscus.

But as breathtakingly beautiful as it is,

as warm and welcoming as we find it every time we come,

as lovely and relaxing and refreshing as our time there always is –

it is the people we share it with

that make this place memorable.

Setting aside time, money and commitment for vacationing

is a very high value for us as a family.

In fact, after commitment to growing in discipleship,

loving one another well,

learning our whole lives long –

I would have to say that re-creating is among our top four family values.

My husband and I began our married life by traveling halfway around the world together – to serve, to explore,

to grow together as our own family unit.

And every year since then, we have saved for,

planned for and enjoyed time away from the regular routine.

We seek beauty,

learning about new places,

meeting new people,

and enjoying one another

in a setting that is removed from the demands of daily living.

So we’ve been back to Kauai

(or to Maui, our 2nd favorite)

about 15 times in the last 30 years.

And some of our richest family memories are

part and parcel of that small northernmost island,

the one with all the greenery and all the family lore.

Each of our parents invited their children and grandchildren to Kauai in celebration of their 50th wedding anniversaries.

We’re making plans to do the same in 3 years time, when our own comes around.

We took each of our children’s spouses with us on family trips to this place – two of them before they were officially members of the family.

And four years ago, we planned an extra-special trip,

one that became even more so in retrospect.

Our middle daughter and her family of 5 rented a house in Princeville for a month.

Dick and I rented a house on the edge of Kalihiwai Bay for the same time period.

We were 10 minutes apart by car and each of us entertained parts of our extended families over the course of those four weeks.

My mom and my youngest brother came for one week and stayed with us. Within two years, he was dead and she was blind, frail and losing her memory.

The treasure of this time together

is something I carry with me just about every day.

My husband’s mom and his incredible sister, whose marriage of 38 years had just ended, came and stayed for a different week.

Today, four years later,

Mom is on hospice care;

Dick’s sister is preparing for a very different life

once her mother is gone, most likely moving across the country to be nearer her daughter for half of each year.

Life just keeps on changing, you know?

And the gift of time away together?

It cannot be measured.

Since our initial visit 32 years ago, the islands have changed, too. Some of that change is welcome (like a wonderful Costco near the airport); some of it not so much (like increasing development and numbers of people) – but the essentials of the place remain the same.

It is beautiful.

It is marked by a much slower rhythm of living.

It is far enough away to feel removed

from the lure of life on the mainland,

but not so far away as to feel isolated.

I cannot possibly put into words how deeply grateful

I am to have spent time in this grace-filled space.

I think it’s about as close to Eden

as I’m ever going to get this side of heaven –

and I KNOW God lives there year ’round.

Joining in the Community Writing Project for The High Calling, put together by Charity Singleton and edited by Deidra Riggs, two of the finest women on the planet.

You can read other vacation stories at Charity’s place:

http://charitysingleton.blogspot.com/2012/05/community-writing-project-summer.html#more

Filed Under: family, memoir, Photo Essay, Travel, Wonderings in the World

Lessons from the Vineyard

May 7, 2012 By Diana

“I am the vine,” he said.

“You are the branches.”

We live in vineyard country here in Santa Barbara County.

It has not always been so.

For hundreds of years, the rolling hills around our county

looked like this. They were covered with oak trees,

singly or straggling down the hillsides by the dozen,

creating a landscape unique to this part of the world.

Then the trees began going down by the hundreds,

bulldozed to make room for

vineyards that look like this.

Miles and miles of vineyards.

Espaliered grape vines began to sprout out of the ground, neat rows replacing the random gorgeousness

of oaks and wildflowers.

For many, this felt like an assault on nature,

beauty and

the central coast way of life.

For others, it was evidence of a dream come true.

About a dozen years ago, county supervisors decided to stop the wholesale destruction of native oak groves,

insisting that any new vineyard acreage be built around

the natural habitat instead of through it.

As the vineyards matured, those of us who live by and drive on these highways and byways began to take note of the new beauty around us, enjoying the contrast of

planned and unplanned vegetation.

Now we can follow the seasons by paying attention to what’s happening in the vineyards.

The brilliant, lush green foliage of summer,

the red-gold shimmer of fall,

as the harvest begins.

The increasingly bare branches as December approaches.

It is when the branches are at their barest that some of the most important work of the year happens:

pruning.

That good work of shaping, sorting, sifting through the vines for the best, preserving only what will produce good fruit the following year.

Winter is the time for trimming and cutting and neatening things,

making space for the plumpest of red, purple or green grapes, grapes that will grow heavy and rich as harvest time approaches.

It’s during the pruning season that things are made ready.

Dead wood is removed,

unproductive sucker growth is tossed into the fire.

And sure enough,

when March rolls around,

new growth starts to shoot,

reaching for the sun, growing strong and sturdy,

ready to support the heaviest of clusters,

the richest of harvests.

I wonder, what season am I in?

In terms of my lifetime, I know it is autumn.

And that means the fruit should be ready.

How has the Master of the Vineyard pruned and shaped

and trimmed and cut back the branch that is me?

Have I consented to the shears?

The ones that want to cut away the lies?

The lies I tell and the lies I believe,

the dead stuff that weighs me down

and keeps me stuck.

Have I invited the Husbandman to trim away the compulsions, the anxieties, the addictions – however they may reveal themselves in my life?

Have I said ‘yes’ to the Gardener, the one

who sees what is full of life and promise and potential,

the one who can see what will yield the sweetest of fruit?

And have I allowed my soul-tendrils to sink firmly into the Vine,

practicing those things that will help me to dwell,

to stand firm in,

to steady myself,

to ABIDE?

For much of my life, I feared this word of Jesus in the gospel of John.

Taught that bad branches would end up in the fire, I wanted to work ever-so-hard to pump out those grapes!

It is only in recent years –

these years that I’ve been driving through vineyard country – that I’ve begun to realize that ALL the branches on the vine are pruned.

And that kind of pruning is a good thing.

Everyone of us has stuff that needs to be cut away,

thrust into the incinerator,

moved aside

so that there is more breathing room for good things,

sweet things,

rich things,

nourishing things…

for FRUIT.

It sounds so scary, though, doesn’t it?

Painful, too.

And I suppose sometimes, it is.

It’s painful to let go of habits,

attitudes,

prejudices,

fears,

compulsive behaviors,

reactivity,

defensiveness,

self-righteousness,

and all those things we fill that interior space with,

day in and day out.

But… here’s the thing:

it all needs to go.

All of it.

And for good reason, too.

It’s hard to produce

love,

joy,

peace,

forbearance,

kindness,

goodness,

faithfulness,

gentleness,

self-control

when the branch is laden down with all that other crap.

So…as my own winter draws near,

will I allow the Vineyard Owner to do what needs to be done?

I hope so. I really do.

Because a well-pruned branch,

lovingly shaped and carefully trimmed –

well that’s where the good stuff grows.

My thanks to Don Johnson for his reflection on this passage in worship this morning.

And special thanks to Bob Gross for his wonderful musical setting of an obscure old hymn, bringing words to life in new and fresh ways.

Joining Michelle for her “Hear It on Sunday” gathering,

Jen and the Soli deo gloria sisterhood,

Laura at “Playdates with God,”

and L.L. with “On, In and Around Monday”

Filed Under: biblical reflection, personal journey, Photo Essay, Sunday Reflections, Wonderings in the Word

A Little Tea, A Little Laughter: a Photo Essay

May 2, 2012 By Diana

Never let it be said that I don’t occasionally enjoy

a little fantasy.

Pretending to be a ‘lady,’ perhaps – a west coast, 21st century upstairs resident of Downton Abbey?
Why yes, don’t mind if I do…for a little while.

There is this glorious old hotel in my town, a Spanish colonial revival masterpiece that spreads out quietly across the street from the beach where I like to visit.
Most of the time, I go there for the beach itself – to sit or to walk, to meditate on the wonders of God’s creative genius.

Generally, I pay little heed to the old Biltmore because I’m always looking the other direction, across the small stretch of sand that is Butterfly Beach, staring out across the Santa Barbara channel. I admire the waves, the extensive beds of kelp, the Channel Islands – if they’re visible – the angle of the light as it bounces off the water. I am always searching for dolphins or pelicans,
even whales some seasons of the year.

But every once in a while, I stick my small camera in a pocket and stroll across the street, just to pick up a little atmosphere, to wander and wonder about who built this place, who stays here, how many weddings there have been on these grounds.

It’s lush with old bricks and old greenery, service personnel moving efficiently and silently across the pathways connecting its many outbuildings and cottages.

The place fairly reeks of elegance, of old money, of careful attention to the smallest architectural detail, of thoughtful planning and hushed voices and class.

Class – that indefinable something, that vibe which whispers,

“We know what we’re doing, we do it very, very well, and you’re welcome to be here as long as you behave.”

Even the luggage carts are discreetly tucked away.

The view is lovely – not spectacular

(that might not be classy, after all)

but truly lovely.

And there is a brick pathway that leads directly from the hotel to a specially built staircase leading down to the sand.

Taking my fantasy life into reality for a little while last Saturday afternoon, I had the rare treat of going inside this grand place.

I had a special birthday gift, you see.

High Tea at the Biltmore Hotel, hosted by my daughter-in-law and my 6-year-old granddaughter.

Can you imagine?

High tea.

At the BILTMORE!

Arriving at the Biltmore is quietly dramatic.

Parking valets whisk your car to places unknown,

the heavily-vined porte-cochere invites you into the cool, naturally lit archway entrance.

Flanking either side of the front door are statuary

and entire bins of orchids.

A small, silent fountain slips water down the side of a glistening urn.

The lobby is large, with high ceilings, expensive carpets, more orchids and a variety of lighting fixtures. To the right and down the steps is the wood-paneled lounge and bar, with a 15 foot window framing the ocean view.

Once upon a time, High Tea was served in that lounge.

Now it has moved to the restaurant, a sweeping space of beauty and calm.

There is something strangely soothing about such a space.

A je ne sais quoi spirit of welcome,

of invitation.

It has that affect on all kinds and ages of people.

Yet despite the beauties of the room,

which truly did elicit sighs of contentment and appreciation,

I have to say that my favorite view of the entire afternoon was this one:

Gracie, across the table, looking so grown up.

Pink bows right down to her toes,

she loved every minute of this experience.

And what’s not to love?

Beautiful china place settings, linen placemats and napkins,

delicious food, beautifully presented.

(Well…Gracie was not at all sure about these sandwiches. But the tea and the second course? Oh, yeah. She was into that!)

Each of us had our own teapot, with a hand-wrapped silk bag containing the tea flavor of our choice inside. I went for straight mint, they went for chocolate mint flavored black tea. All of us were deeply satisfied with our choices.

Two lumps, please.

Milk? Why, yes, please. I’d be delighted.

And drink it down she did – complete with elevated pinkie finger. I do declare, I believe she was the most scrumptious thing on the menu that afternoon!

And this is the second course.

And the third.

And the fourth.

A plethora of deliciousness, three of each item, all prepared strictly according to the number of reservations made.

There are NO drop-ins for High Tea.

And in one of the most extreme instances of overkill in recent memory, this was the special additional goodie tray for the birthday girl…which was moi.

Surely the largest dipped strawberry on the planet,
plus truffles hand crafted by the chef.

Gracie thoroughly enjoyed carefully scraping off the dark chocolate birthday greeting as we packed most of the treats to take home.

It was a very full day, in every way I can think of.

I have written before about how blessed I am in my daughter-in-law. She has been a gift in my life from the moment I first met her, almost 20 years ago.

And the three of us had a lovely time of making small dreams come true for a little while on Saturday afternoon.

Downton Abbey?

Well, maybe not quite.

But for this California Nana, it was close enough.

Thanks, Rachel and Grace – I had a grand time.

This is not a particularly ‘spiritual’ post, at least in the way most people on the internet define spiritual. However, for me it was an experience rich in blessing, in love and in joy. And all of those things are among God’s richest gifts to us.

So, I will list this at Michelle’s Hear It on Sunday at her Graceful blogsite

and at Jennifer’s Soli Deo Gloria sisterhood over at Finding Heaven.

I’ll also join in with Laura’s Playdate at The Wellspring

and with L.L. at Seedlings in Stone.

The new blogger format makes transferring buttons nearly impossible for me to do and I am sorry not to be able to include them with my posts.

I used to be able to open another window in my editor and copy them from earlier posts.

I can no longer do that. So I’ll keep trying to figure it out.

In the meantime, I encourage you check out these fine blogs I enjoy linking with

whenever I can.

Filed Under: birthdays, family, Photo Essay, Santa Barbara

Why I Am Hopeful for the Future of the Church: a Photo Essay

April 28, 2012 By Diana

Four days at one of the most spectacular Catholic retreat centers in the country, just outside the great city of Chicago.

Four days of some of the most intense work I’ve done since my retirement at the end of 2010.

Four days living in a small dormitory, individual rooms, shared bathrooms, one large living room with a fluorescent light buzzing loudly enough to wake the dead and a heater occasionally cranking out warm air with a deafening whoosh.
Four days with nine other people, only a few of whom I knew at all, each with their own ideas/opinions/working styles/life experiences/biases/favorite talking points.

The work was exhausting, confusing, challenging, amorphous, multi-layered, intense, demanding and important. It was also rich, rewarding, exhilarating, and very, very good.

While breathing in a glorious whiff of springtime in the Midwest, walking to the dining room, finding long-time friends by accident, discovering shared connections with new friends, hearing stories of gospel good news from all corners of this country we share, somehow – by God’s grace – we became a team.

Not always in agreement, sometimes dissatisfied with results, often overwhelmed by the task – we joined hearts, heads, prayers, and vision to do the work before us.

Our task? To create a weekend retreat experience as part of our denominational tool-kit; something that could be led by a trained facilitator in a variety of church settings; a brief slice of time in which people might begin to discover what it feels like to truly listen and to be fully heard.

How often do we come together with other followers of Jesus and feel as if we are invisible? Not seen, not heard, not understood. Very little in our day-to-day living – filled as it is with tight schedules, too much ‘should’ and ‘ought’ and ‘How are you?’ and ‘Oh, I’m fine…just f.i.n.e’ – very little in our lives allows enough space to practice listening well.

We wanted to create something that would help people to find and nurture true spiritual companionship as we journey together through life. Something that would introduce the basics of attentive listening, something that would encourage the thoughtful sharing of stories, something that would include an enlivening thread of liturgical worship, a shared meal, the sacrament of communion.

We hammered away at it from Sunday night through Wednesday noon, sampling things like dwelling in the word, taking a Cleopas walk, using art or music to fill in the gaps, thinking about lifemaps and technology and crafting a blessing.

It was tough sledding at a few points and there is much still to be done.

But here’s the greatest gift of this time away, this intense stretch of little sleep, lots of questions and not quite enough answers:

I discovered a beautiful sprouting thing in the center of my spirit – a thing with wings and light-filled, buoyant beauty. And it’s name is HOPE.

And right here is where much of that hope is centered: three women who are pastors. Three beautiful-to-the-core, loving, creative, committed, intelligent, Jesus-loving, kingdom-building, forward-thinking, open-hearted, life-giving leaders in our denomination who will change the church as we know it. ALL FOR THE GOOD. Becky from Ohio, Diana from Illinois, Michelle from Massachusetts – each of them gifted by God and called ‘for such a time as this.’ Each of them eager to follow the Nazarene wherever he may lead them, each of them fearless in their faith, pushing the envelope of ‘that’s how it’s always been done,’ seeking the pearl of great price, no matter the cost.

So, as I flew home on Wednesday night, I gave deep thanks for the work of the Spirit in our midst. I basked in the afterglow of new-found friendship. I rested in the knowledge that the God we serve is ever-faithful, ever-present, ever-guiding and guarding the church.

As the California ground got closer and closer, I marveled at the rich communion just enjoyed in Chicago, all of it centered around our shared commitment to the deep ways of God. I rejoiced in the wisdom of older saints, in the commitment of denominational leaders to finding new ways of going ‘higher up and further in,’ and the energy and probing thoughtfulness of the entire group. One woman ran a marathon on Sunday and flew west that night. One man participated in a spiritual directors’ graduation ceremony on Sunday and took the red-eye east to join us on Monday morning.

We all thought this was important work, creating the last in a set of three retreat options for the broader church, this one focusing on leaning into and learning from one another. That sense of shared values and high commitment fueled each piece of the discussion and experimentation of our time together.

Over the next two months, I must assemble all our notes, all our thoughts and prayers and goals and guesses into some sort of cohesive whole. This will be a work in progress for a number of months, with pilot experiences in the fall.

We hope to end up with something that encourages people to journey more deeply together. For if there is one thing I know at this end of life’s twists and turns, it is this: there truly are NO ‘Lone Ranger’ Christians. We need each other, we are better together, we are meant to be a living body of believers, connected
by the binding, energizing power of the Holy Spirit,
by the shed blood of Jesus Christ who shared our flesh,
by the creative, living presence of Almighty God.

My deep thanks to Doreen Olson, Executive Minister of the Department of Christian Formation of the Evangelical Covenant Church, to Millie Lungren, Director of Covenant Resources and overseer for Prayer Ministries for the DCF, and to Diana Shiflett, spiritual director and Associate Pastor at Naperville Covenant Church, for her skill and grace in facilitating this experience.

The rest of our team consisted of:
Ron Ferguson, Associate Pastor, and spiritual director from Keene, New Hampshire
Jim Gaderlund, retired pastor, spiritual director, coordinator for Re-Visioning and Sabbath Retreats for the denomination from Mountain View CA
Letha Kerl, spiritual director and Regional Co-Director for Missions in Europe and Africa from Lyons, France and the Seattle area while on home assignment
John Kiemele, spiritual director, Founder and Director of Selah Contemplative Retreats, Seattle WA
Becky Przybylski, Associate Pastor, Toledo OH
Michelle Sanchez, Associate Pastor, Medford MA, in training for spiritual direction

I will be posting this with Michelle at Graceful, with Jen at Finding Heaven, with Laura at The Wellspring and with L.L. at Seedlings in Stone. You can find their buttons on the sidebar to the right.